One of the Ninety and Nine

The past month has been filled with lots of stress. Andrew has loaded himself up with 16 credits this quarter, of which we are both feeling the pressure. I have had both a colonoscopy and an endoscopy to which no conclusions were found to what my consistent stomach pains are. Oliver has started to throw more toddler-like tantrums proving himself to not be a little infant anymore.

But despite the stresses of it all, we've been pretty okay. Food has always filled our bellies and clothes have clothed our backs. We've enjoyed each other's company when the stressful things are just pushed aside for a little while. We've felt edified at church each week and have felt the Spirit in the home through family home evening and scripture study.

As I've done what I'm supposed to do and had faith like I'm supposed to, I've somehow felt myself feeling like just a number.

Just another person with problems and worries. Just another mom who is dealing with diaper rash and trying to get her kid to eat vegetables. Just another person that shows up on Sundays at church and performs her duties like she's asked. Just another person trying to endure this life in a way that is pleasing to our Heavenly Father. Just another person.

How could my worries of whatever my stomach pain is possibly matter to a God that has created worlds without end? How could a tough day of tantrums matter to a God who can command the land and seas to do His will? How could my fears and worries seem like anything to a God who has children having FAR worse problems than my own to worry about?

To sum it up, I've been feeling like a spec of dust. Just another face in the crowd. Just one of the ninety and nine.

I grew up listening to Michael McLean. I always thought his music was wonderful and profound, but I never could really relate to it.

Until today.

This line has rung truth in my ears.

Ya, I might be a mom who has average worries and average problems. Ya, I might be just another regular church-goer, not getting myself in trouble. And ya, I might be one of the ninety and nine.

But I am His. I am worth infinitely more to my Heavenly Father than I will ever know. I am not just any face in the crowd- I'm His little Sarah. I am His daughter and He always has and always will claim me as such.

And my life just doesn't mean anything to Him.

It means EVERYTHING  to Him.



  1. Who does the stomach pain belong to?

    A book that may help with raising your son, is Child Whisperer by Carol Tuttle. It's worth a look.

  2. The stomach pains are mine (Sarah) unfortunately! But better for it to be me than my son or husband!

    And I'll have to check that book out thanks for the advice!

    Thanks for stopping in!!!